


Reunions.

by ellipsesarefun



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 06:19:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10679469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsesarefun/pseuds/ellipsesarefun
Summary: “What’s on your mind Yura?”“I wanna kiss you.”In which they set up a party, eat and dance, Yuri gets drunk, and spills his love for his best friend.





	Reunions.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This is a long-ass fic. Like all the others, it came out of the blue. But unlike the others, the was re-edited, revised, re-read several times. I may have overlooked some parts, so I might edit this again months after (because I’ve been looking at this for so long I’m getting sick of this fic)  
> 2\. I do have a distant relative who’s fucking rich. But they don’t send me wine HAHA.  
> 3\. I hope you like my Original Female Character. If you wanna know more about her, you can ask me stuff.  
> 4\. Warning: Ambiguous/Open Ending.  
> 5\. If you’re interested, you’ll see more of their friendship interactions in other short stories for this series, especially the LeYuJi friendship.  
> 6\. Yuri drunk is sort of like Yuuri drunk without the pole dancing. and maybe the dancing. who knows.  
> 7\. I hope you enjoy. If there are flames… well. yea.

He was finally allowing himself to drink any alcoholic beverage in front of all his friends on his twenty-first birthday.

On the heavy insistence from his friends of course (mainly Mila, Sara and Leo).  
  
Yuri never did so before due to his capricious behavior of his drunk self (also noting the aforementioned memory haze that comes with the hangover). The only person he was brave enough to see him in this manner was Trista. It was not only because she was his roommate or she has a secret stash of the classiest alcohol her wealthy aunt ships from her home country, but he has infinite trust in her. Rarely does she call out on his embarrassments or tease him over nonsensical matters and has a sense of understanding that he is eternally grateful for. He will always be eternally grateful for.  
  
It somehow also helps that she herself has a number of embarrassments during her drunken state, including to twerking to Anaconda when induced from five glasses of vodka tonic (this coming from a seemingly shy and reserved individual).  
  
The party was held at the Nikiforov-Katsuki/Katsuki-Nikiforov residence. The two have been married for a few years and may soon adopt a new pup, after Makkachin's death two years prior. The old man himself also (with the indirect help of Tine and her magic wine) managed to obtain a built in mini bar that was once a portion of their kitchen. The living room furniture was spotless, dusted and wiped yesterday. The short-legged table was draped with a handmade tricolor yarned mat (crocheted by none other than Trista herself) and miniature horticulture on top (another courtesy to Trista).  
  
The lawn outside was properly mowed. The backyard already consisted of a badminton net at the center, music equipment set on one side near the house window facing the living room and a banquet of party food parallel to it. At the front stood Trista and Yuri chatting alongside Yuuri and Viktor gazing at their front lawn (must be a married thing, they all think and it's true). Trista carried a list on her clipboard.  
  
"So we got all the food and shit, plus now that the minibar is installed, I can bring in some wine." She said, scribbling whatever on the paper.  
  
"Tch," he crossed his arms, "Seriously? Wine?"  
  
"Hey, hey, you do know my rich ass aunt brings some mighty fine wine." She argued, "She may be selfish with her money but if she's somewhat considerate enough to gift me some wine every birthday then I won't complain."  
  
"Right.."  
  
"Anyways, should we invite JJ?" A low resigned grumble came.

"What do you think?" The grumbling ceased but the scrunched up face remained, "Didn't want this party in the first place."  
  
"It's your birthday, anyway. You'll like it, I swear. You're getting older. Have some fun." She assured, ignoring his rolling eyes.  
  
"You're not getting younger, either." He retorted. A slap on his head was returned.  
  
"Hey, hey, mind your manners, young man." She chided lightly in teasing undertones and he stuck out his tongue in reply. Trista lifted the clipboard to his face, "Is this alright?" He hovered over her shoulder with a frown.  
  
"Yea whatever, as long as Beka and Leo DJ and not him." He said and Trista held back a snort.  
  
"What, his music not cool for you?"  
  
"I used to hate his guts, but he's still a dick and his music's "eh"." He veered away, peering at the backyard ahead, "Leo's pretty good. Beka's the one that's got style and taste." She shifted her gaze at his contemplative face.  
  
"He must be really something, huh." There were specs of emotion on his face and she hid her smile under the guise of her faux innocence.  
  
"You keep saying that." This was a familiar conversation they've had for quite some time, probably for a few years. They come in varied sentences and responses with the gradual leak of emotions that have been brewing beneath.  
  
They always end with the same denied responses.  
  
"It's true for you, anyway." It is. She is merely a bystander witnessing the apocalypse, unwavering and ever-present. Yuri is somewhere among the catastrophe, maybe washed away by a tsunami or flown off with a hurricane or tornado. This was not her problem anyway, only to check if he was still surviving and attending to his wounds. She aids him whenever she can, but she can never stop the storm because it's his mess that conjured up from the depths of his own mind in the first place.  
  
(Sometimes, she acts like some wise Guru dropped from the heavens that it annoys him every time her face morphs into that all-knowing, perceptive gaze.)  
  
Yuri chews on his lip and veers away from the backyard, already pacing towards the car, Trista following from behind. They bade farewell to the couple before driving away to buy other things.

(509--509)

“ _You do know crushes fade away, right?”_

(509--509)

Going to the mall for clothes, food, books and other friend shenanigans is one thing but throwing all expenses over a small party with a surplus of garbage food is another thing.

“Isn’t that a little too much?” Yuri scrutinizes the amount of garbage food on the cart. It seemed a lot for just a party, even for a day. It may span for weeks.

“Eh, it’s fine.” his roommate waved an arm in dismissal, “Everyone might be hungry.”

It was a consensus decision (albeit reluctant on a certain someone’s part) not to consume such waste, mainly due to his roommates erratic and ravenous appetite and the insistence from both Porky and his balding husband that she take a break. From chips and cola and everything that brings the wrath of her stomach and her bowel and dysmenorrhea that consistently aches.

“You mean _you’ll_ get hungry.” he added and she scoffed at him.

“Not completely true. Yuuri-senpai will help me finish all of it.” (and it’s true; the two were known for finishing a whole gourmet of _anything_ ) Trista turned to the ginger-haired woman beside her, who was grabbing an armada of Cheetos, “Right, Mila?”

“Of course!” She agreed, wholeheartedly dumping the Cheetos into the cart, “Sala and I will be eating these too, y’know! Yurotchka shouldn’t bother into our affairs. After all, what’s a party without junk food?” They grinned simultaneously, filling the cart continuously. Yuri outwardly grimaced at the overwhelming size.

“Don’t you think that’s more than enough for a few people?” He asked again, and the women brushed his warning off like swatting a fly with a hand.

“It’s called after party, Yuri.” Trista reasoned. Weak excuse.

“Yea!” Mila chimed in again, “Junk food untouched are the best! Especially since no one but us is gonna gobble this after.”

He palmed his face and huffed out a sigh. Seriously. They’re gonna waste their stupid dollars with all that shit polluting in their cells.

“Beka,” he barked at the brunet that was wordlessly standing behind him, “Do something.”

The man merely shrugged (and it was barely even one like this was all just a mundane thing) and said, “You know she’s not gonna listen to you, Yura. leave her be.”

“That’s right!” Trista added, “Otabek, can you please accompany Yuri some place where he can’t scold me?”

A glitter of a smile shined on Otabek’s face for a brief second and vanished that followed by a, “With pleasure.” He shifted his eyes to Yuri, “Let’s go. Yura.”

“Ugh. You two will be the death of me.” After a farewell and a sassy comment, the two left the supermarket and bought drinks at the nearest cafe they (used to) frequently visit. They took seats near the entrance and talked. Just like how they did in high school.

“So, how’re classes?” Beka asks as he casually places his lips on the straw to lightly suck in the iced caffeine. Yuri snaps out of his reverie and his nails snugged into his pale skin as an urge to focus his eyes at some other point.

“You know. Science-y stuff.” That was the lamest reply he’d ever pull out after the many moments of creepily eyeing his body parts for more than the usual amount of time, but Otabek deserves to have the “bestest bestest friend in the whole wide world” badge because his silence over such matters is a virtue and he asks, “I don’t know, Yura. Philosophy, remember?”

“Yea, you and your,” he gestures wildly for effect, “Ancient wisdom.” The man across him rolls his eyes.

“Sure, Yura, sure...”

“Yes.” He agrees, “But anyways, it’s... okay, I guess? Everyday, I always have a spare lab gown (and I have around four lab gowns already) stashed in my locker when there’s a lab class. Science calculators are always needed and the stat we go for is ANOVA and shit. There’s also the basics. Like in mitosis, there’s PMAT, but then it takes around a few courses to get that there are proteins that affect other biomolecules like sugars, enzymes, or even more proteins. Like fucking Cell Biology.”

“Damn.”

“Yep. Cell Biology was awesome, because, y’know, it’s the cells and shit and you learn all those kinds of shit.” He goes on, the tense atmosphere he brews suddenly waning and disappearing, “I didn’t even know the ER and Golgi Body had anything useful until Cell Biology. But it’s just so damn complicated. So much to read and so much weird words.”

“Aren’t they usually Latin?”

“Fuck Latin, Altin.” A snort comes, “It’s fucking shit. But it’s okay sometimes. How about you? Bet you’re as hardcore as Jean Paul Satre or geeking out over Albert Camus.”

“I guess. We read. And read. And discuss. And write essays. And debate.” Yuri nods, sharing his sentiment from the number of thick books Trista has in their apartment.

The rest of their caffeine drinking flies by through exchanged tales of their college life. From frat boys, to horrible makeouts in empty halls, to terror professors who don’t curve their grades, they’ve covered the entire months that Skype doesn’t do justice. Any social media-based conversation cannot fully acquiesce the ache in his chest every time he thinks of the growing distance between him and Beka.

He’s not sure if there is but he worries.

_“Some friendships from high school fade away. Some don’t. There are people who come and go in our lives once in a while and in several occasions, people can just leave without saying good bye and in the rarest ones, they still communicate with you, regardless of the distance between you. The ones who do those and make a heavy influence in your life matter than the nameless acquaintances you meet in any class.”_

Trista’s words echoed in his head. It’s true. He has those friends. He gets a call or a Facebook chat from the maybe boyfriends / weird bestfriends Leo and Guang every month or so. Trista frequently shares her old notes and drawings, occasionally chiming in with some quick mnemonic devices and all the how-to-do-shit in labs, like titration shit. In every two weeks, he receives a care package from his stupid cousin and Porky. Mila and Sara share gossips with him and Trista whenever they visit. Even Georgi sends a post card from time to time (and there were some occurrences wherein he responds in kind, wishing him well).

The brunet right in front of him with his Kazakh phrases and smooth tongue has been with him through and through until the present time. Otabek sends the best care packages every week (they usually contain a couple of tiger face merch with a couple of crochet things he made once in awhile). He calls and texts as often as he could, topics range from the most random to the most serious.

Yuri saves most--if not, all-- of their online conversations, from Skype, to Facebook to Snapchat to Tumblr and down from their most recent to the oldest one. He screenshots some Tweets that were the most memorable from Beka’s account and a few stories from Snapchat. His download folder in his laptop was filled with DJ Bek’s remixes that he replays in the late night cram sessions and crippling insomnia that knaws him at the chest when the thought of losing his best friend pops up. There were traces of Otabek Altin around him, even when his physical presence remains absent.

That does not mean that there were issues. Issues as in no sign of communication that may elongate to more than three months, as in the wordless calls in three am and falling asleep at the sound of their voice when they’re too tired to pursue any conversation, as in the delayed replies from the lack of internet connection, as in misinterpreting facial expressions and/or curt replies that imply on the possible vexations that either of them harbor in some of their Skype calls.

(His thumbs pause over Beka’s name in his speed dial contacts in desperation to rant over any aspect of his day but gradually loses the courage to press the call button.)

“Are you alright?” His best friend inquired, stoic mien screwed with concern. Even with the distance and academic work pushing them apart, Beka somehow has a sixth sense to his well-being.

(He appreciates it.)

“Ah yea,” Yuri waved it off with a hand, “Just thinking about things..”

“About what?” Beka crosses his arms over the table and leans slightly.

“About us, really. How we’ve come this far ever since High School.” Yuri added with a casual shrug and a gentle smile graced the brunet’s face.

“Never thought you’d be this sentimental.” A roll of the eyes praised his comment.

“When you’ve been living with a woman filled with schmaltz, then there’ll come a time I’ll be as sentimental as she is.”

“She’s grown on you, hasn’t she?”

“She’s a little sister and a big sister at the same time, how can I not?” He rolled his eyes again in effect. She was physically hundreds of meters away but he’d tell she’s laughing her ass off somewhere.

Their rapport ensued through other topics, till there was no caffeine left in their plastic cups but ice. Yuri checked his phone as the clock on his lock screen chimed at five. Several messages from his friends were displayed, with 15 missed calls from Mila and Viktor. Something shifted at his side and he looked up at the sudden outstretched hand. A second of silence came before Yuri noiselessly grasped his callous palms and pulled himself up to a stand. Otabek released his hold and they ushered their way out of the cafe, Yuri three paces behind and a dazed look upon his face.

(509--509)

“ _You do know crushes fade away, right?”_

_“Can’t they fade away any faster?”  
_

(509--509)

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YURI!” The group cheered, all huddled in the Katuski-Nikiforov/Nikiforov-Katsuki backyard. Kiira started blasting the whole yard from Leo’s iPod as they all dispersed to either dance on one side or grab some food from the buffet table.

The party wasn’t much of a drag, really. If he was absolutely frank to everyone, he could say he was glad to have their presence in his life. Everyone greeted with presents. Some were food, some were plushies (he got a Otabear from Beka), some were remixes, and everyone was creative.

(At the back of his mind, Yuri felt loved. He thinks to himself that _Dedushka_ need not have to worry about him so much from beyond the grave.)

Yuri sat on one of the laid out mats, taking his time with his chicken. On either side of him were Ji, who was bubbling with laughter over internet nonsense with Trista, and Beka, who was eagerly listening to Emil’s something (he’s not sure, it’s a bit noisy here). Beka and Emil go to the same university and share a few classes together.

He surveyed the area with nostalgic amusement. Like always, Viktor owned the dance floor with his fluid movements and hip bumping as Katsuki watched from the sidelines, cheeks flushed and Yuri couldn’t quite tell if he was exasperated or aroused by his husbands’ naughtiness. Giacometti arrived the scene with a dancing pole (it’s only seven o’clock and he brought a fucking dance pole already; where the fuck he got that shit) and mass cheered and whistled as he twirled around the steel metal in his underwear. The rest were swaying and grinding on each other’s bodies (he could catch a glimpse of Sala and Mila goofing off). Phichit was mingling around, sometimes sitting with Seung-Gil in one of the mat, even with Georgi (Seung-Gil, Phichit, and Georgi? What are they talking about over there?), sometimes whooping at Giacometti’s show, and sometimes taking pictures and selfies of anyone and everyone that most of his notifications on Instagram were piled up from Phichit’s tags.

Yuri chanced a glance at his best friend beside him, still conversing something so serious with Emil. The ash blond man beside Beka chortled, pausing his drink to respond in witty remarks. Okay, so maybe not so serious, but he has to admit. Even with that wonted stoic face, age has done nothing but generous to Beka. It’s noticeable from his chiseled jaw, down to those reformed muscles (he’s had those in high school, but they seemed a little more toned, if that was possible), to the callous hands now thicker and larger (nice to hold) and that glint of a smile that reappears every now and then. Yuri looked back down at his untouched food, a curve forming on his lips.

(Oh, _Dedushka_ , they never change. It’s been years since we’ve come together like this but they never change.)

The night grew longer and the party grew wilder when alcohol was passed around. Katsudon managed to avoid the inebriated scene altogether (which was lucky for him, because he’d given several lap dances when he met Viktor in his youth). Trista wasn’t, as she now took the stage with another free style to [Era Istrefi’s Bonbon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hnjVIs8QZgQ). Minutes later, he was given a glass of alcohol (vodka maybe? he wasn’t sure) and somehow, he was ushered to dance among the wild mass of people. His hips and limbs swayed and he could vaguely hear Jason Derulo’s Swalla. All his senses merged together in an ineffable blob but he couldn’t give two fucks, already hypnotized by the swinging bodies around him.

(509--509)

“ _Tris, that really isn’t helping.”_

“ _It takes time, ya know. Usually they fade away when you get to know the person better. You can become friends. Best friends even.”_

(509--509)

Alessia Cara was blaring up the speakers for the past hour or so. Hours. He couldn't tell, not with the vodka swimming in his cells. Yuri surveyed the backyard. The mass of dancing bodies swirled his night vision, feeding into his dizziness. He stumbled and swerved until finally he realized he was standing in the living room. Everyone was buzzing with party fever and his friends seemed busy with other things.  
  
There was Trista at the mini bar, catching up with Mila and Sara over drunken shenanigans, who were now engaged since last month (they were also probably arranging a blind date for Trista as well; he overheard that they were adamant on snagging a boyfriend for her). Leo was somewhere by the minibar as well, lounging around his still maybe boyfriend Ji (those two are idiots; but they were one of his bestfriends). The stupid couple was also there, with shmaltzy conversations and all the sappy bullshit (gods, it's been years and they're still the same annoying and disgusting couple).  
  
It was a pretty mundane scene, if you ask him. Only, it was more distorted due to his drunken state.  He could recognize others, at least tried to with his lack of coordination. In the haze, he could find Otabek sitting at the edge of the couch, sipping red wine like he was some god. He knew that undercut and that leather jacket anywhere, despite sharing a similar hairstyle with stupid JJ.  
  
A smile carved on his face. He awkwardly sauntered towards the man and plopped himself on his lap, earning a startled gasp from the latter.  
  
"Beka," Yuri cooed, spilling himself all over his chest and hanging his arms around the nape of his neck. The latter choked on a reply. Yuri supposes he was too stunned to move any of his limbs. If he wasn't so inebriated, he would have caught a glimpse of a smile on Otabek's face.  
  
"Yura." With steady, hesitant movements, his arms snaked around his waist, grip as light as a feather, "You drank too much." The blond managed a chuckle and snuggled his face on his tanned shoulder.  
  
"Nope!" He replied, voice rumbling on his skin, "This is how I- y'know... usually drink!" A hiccup passed. From here, Yuri could feel light and constant touch of his phalanges splayed all over his waist that he couldn't help but purr and to continuously rub his face on that firm, defined, tanned shoulder. It was as though he were marking his territory.  
  
His Beka.

“Check it out! Our little princess is all over our DJ!” some moron hollered from some place but Yuri paid no heed. He’s not a Beka after all and this wonderful dark knight is his territory for the time being. The rest of the people might have notice for he heard shuffling and whispering and teasing. Yuri could hear Trista laughing at the background (little bitch had too many glasses of vodka). He would’ve barked a mean reply but that would mean letting go of this.. whatever this was.. this lucid daydream that he’d always have from time to time.

“You smell so nice.” He cooed again, sniffing the cologne he still uses since he met him. Otabek’s shoulders tensed and the limbs around his waist gripped tighter.

“You should go home.” But he didn’t want to go home. That meant letting go of this Beka, _his_ Beka, and that meant never having to hold him like this ever again.

“No.” Yuri latched onto his neck in a tighter grip, “I don’t want to let you go.” There were “aww”s and “how sweet” that swept past his ears yet still, they drowned under the gasps of the man below him.

“Yuri.” his name tingled in his ear with a silent command but he shook his head again, adamant with the irrational decision to stay in the arms of his best friend. Beneath, he could feel his pectorals rise and fall as he drew a long sigh. He purred some more. His body heat is paradise.

There was squirming, a sign Yuri saw as Beka’s attempts to stand. His fantasy was not short lived, however, when his hands shifted downwards slightly to cup the cheeks of his butt, emanating a whimper from Yuri that only can hear.

Beka slowly stretched his legs up, keep his hold on Yuri as he did so and Yuri took the chance to snake his legs on Beka’s waist. The small tent on his black jeans was felt right on his own tight leggings that Yuri could feel the small tremble in his steps as he carried Yuri to another room, a guestroom at the second floor. The mindless chatter of his friends and acquaintances went back to normal, as if this little moment occurs on a regular basis.

(The idea of this intimate cuddling being a regular occurrence elated the blond, all still knowing that they never discussed the ambiguity of their relationship.)

Moments later, he found himself in his bed, the upper portion sat upright and a blanket draped over his shoulders. His Beka sat on the chair by the bed, facing with him usual stoic mien. Under his intoxication, Yuri could find traces of tenderness among that emotionless facade that Otabek shows everyday. he was only an inch away but there was still a distance lingering between them.

“Come here.” he croaked, waving an arm on the empty space beside him. When the man shook his head, he patted his arm repeatedly, “Please Beka.”

“Yuri-”

“ _Please Beka_.” Using his nickname in that tone would rile him but he didn’t care. He wanted his Beka here above there cotton sheets of heaven. Sooner than later, he complied, laying his body on his side. Maybe it was the alcohol and maybe it was wishful thinking but there was that look again. That tender and unorthodox gaze that Yuri catches a glimpse frequently as the years pass by. They began to appear more often than not. Somewhere in his mind whispered that those were only reserved for him and that maybe...

Maybe..

“What’s on your mind Yura?” The object of his affections asked, as if sensing the invisible pandemonium screeching in his mind. Yuri parted his lips, but no syllable came, his larynx all dried up, consumed by the thoughts swimming around. He wordlessly shot out his hands to cup his cheeks, fingers praising the slight stubble by his mouth. How he’d love to do this with him every single day in a bed as soft as this. Otabek closed his eyes and his face softened, melting into the touch with minimum effort. In this little bubble of safe haven, Yuri supposes that this might be the only time he’d lay as defenseless as this, that his walls are as low as he allows it to be.

“I wanna kiss you.” He said, earning a light gasp from the man. He wandered over his surprised look with unwavering immensity, “I want to go out and take you on dates and ride on your motorcycle till we find a park to stop and admire the sunset. I want us to try out those fancy restaurants just for the heck of it. I want us to laze around in bed all day, doing nothing but watch our favorite shows on your laptop or listen to those remixes you play. I want to do all those things with you.” To this, Otabek opened his mouth to respond but Yuri stopped him with a brush of a kiss on his lips, continuing, “But I can’t. Probably am fuckin’ the relationship up already by tellin’ you things that friends--best friends-- should never hear but I don’ think I’ll remember any of this tomorrow. There’s nothin’ to regret if I don’ remember anyway.” He pushed himself to his knees, hovering above Otabek with a timid smile dawning on his lips, bittered by the words he spilled and the harsh regret that drops after with a tear stain on the bedsheet.

He could feel his vision blurring and his cheeks watered by the the tears. His smile was still there, kept frozen by the lingering euphoria from the affections he so initiated. He couldn’t decipher the mien of the man below him, face uttered in astonishment but somehow catches those eyes as crystal as his own eyes were. There were no waterworks on his face, as though trying to keep them still on his eyelids.

Once more, Yuri placed a steady palm on Otabek’s cheeks, reclining his body and tilting his head till their foreheads touched. Their breaths were in sync, and it took all of Yuri’s self restraint from feeling those lips again.

“When the morning is here, and I’ve already fallen asleep,” he begins, voice whispering against the still atmosphere around them, “Don’t mention anything about what I said and did. Okay, Beka?” His eyes suddenly grew wider a fraction, body solid as a rock.

“But Yura-”

“No,” He cut him off, the firm grip on his cheek gradually waning, “I love you. A lot more than am suppose’ ‘to. 'S better if you keep silent about this.” His eyelids began to droop, deep slumber gradually sinking his body, “I don’t wanna fuck this up.”

“Yura..” and the blond let his vision fade to black, mute to the senses of his surroundings.

When he wakes up, Beka will be gone. Yuri will have a hangover and maybe only little remnants of what occurred the night before will only be remembered. When he does wake up with those, he’ll only think to himself that it was just a wonderful dream.

A dream that he was in Beka’s arms.

(509--509)

“ _Hey Tris, you better swear to your god, because if this gets out-”_

_“Can it, Yuri, I know. Not telling a soul about your love for best friend. Copy that.”  
_

(509--509)

Yuri woke up to the thrum of his head ache and the sunlight spilling over his sheets, eyes cracked of dried sand. He shifted his body to the left and found a letter, a glass of water and a pill on his side table.  
  
"Sorry I had to leave. We can Skype later. I brought a glass of water and a pill for you to drink when you wake up. Take care. -Beka."  
  
Ah.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna reblog this on Tumblr, here's the link: http://ellipsesarefun.tumblr.com/post/159781575928/reunions


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